Monday, April 07, 2008

"If your Mother makes Peas this week, politely decline"

Ok. Some of you may not be comfortable reading this. If you’re name is like ‘Steakbellie’s Mom’ or sister or if you have testicles of any type, you might find yourself cringing abit. Don’t feel compelled to read if you’re grossed out. I can tell you that everything ends ok, and we all get Ice Cream. It’s just something I need to write about.

Frozen Peas
Originally uploaded by steakbellie.
When I was a kid, everyone was getting hit in the nuts. Not a baseball or soccer game could go by without some poor little fella doubling over with nausea. It’s painful to watch, it’s painful to hear about. We all clench our teeth and clamp down on our sphincters when it looks like somebody received a direct hit.

Like everyone else who’s lived abit, I’ve experienced all kinds of physical pain. Burns, Road-Rash, Shocks, Gasoline on the Arm-Pits, MeatSweats, Bed-Spins, Paper Cuts, Fists in the gut, Hot Sauce in the Eyes and 10 years of the Friends Sit-Com. I still find getting wacked in the nads to be extremely unique and undesirable.

Girls were spared this indignity, but later paid a much higher price with Child-Birth and uncomfortable shoes. Still they showed some sympathy on the playground, although I always suspected they laughed their asses off behind the closed doors of a sleepover.

The Lesson? Be careful with those Babies!

Brett Favre
Originally uploaded by steakbellie.
The story now shifts to me bounding down my front steps at the age of 37. I am wearing black basketball shorts and a Brett Farve Jersey. I have the toughest, manliest beard that I could muster in 2 weeks time. I have mismatched socks.

“You’re wearing your Brett Farve Jersey to your Vasectomy?” she’s shaking her head and laughing. My wife knows it’s no accident.
“We’re both retiring this year” I state easily as if he and I hang out. “It’s the end of my career, so I want to dress appropriately.”

Brett is one of the greatest Quarterback who ever lived and me? I am the Eastern National Pro-Creation Champion of 1994, 1996 and 1999. I have three blonde trophies that I keep in the house. You should see those f’ers eat. Somehow in my mind, Brett and I are doing this together. He is my Patron Saint of Manliness that will get me through this very dark and sensitive hour. I think how tough I look in Packers Green and kind of nod to nobody.

My wife points out that it’s the end of her career too, but I don’t see her in a special Jersey.

I’m pretty inexperienced in Drugs other than Ibuprophen and Alcohol, so I cut the Valium the doc gave me for Pre-Game, in half. I try to swallow it for old times sake, and am unsuccessful. It dissolves into tasteless blue powder in my mouth. Nice feelings.

At the Doctor Office I’m hit with a horrible thought. Weeks from now I am going to have to drop off a sample of you-know-what for testing. All of the the office staff are women. Now I know that they deal with this stuff everyday and they are Professionals and blah blah blah, but there really is no way to do this in a dignified manner.

I’m doomed.

Maybe when I come back, I’ll wear the Packers Helmet too and a Facemask. Or Hooded Robes. Maybe I’ll drop it off and say it’s not mine. “I found this in the Parking Lot”

I chew the other half of Valium and worry.

The Nurse calls me back and my wife gives me a kiss like I’m going to the store, except I’m not going to the store. I’m just going to have a man do some horrible things to a part of my body that I have been very careful to keep sharp objects away from. It’s weird.

The Doc has me drop my drawers and lay in a chair thingy with leg stirrups. I keep the Farve Jersey on, and get in a position that I’m guessing is awkward for me and the Doc. I immediately lay my head back and cover my eyes with my forearm.

The Doctor is giving me a rundown of the procedure as he turns on lights, coats my neither regions in various medicinal concoctions and mentions that “It’s normal for you to smell smoke”

I ignore ALL of it.

He notices my Jersey. “You know there’s a report on ESPN this morning that Farve might not retire”

My mind is screaming for a few seconds because despite the drugs, I’m really anxious about getting my nuts cut open. Should I still be going through with this??? If I can't count on Brett to stick with a decision, who’s to say that I’m doing the right thing either.

Now I have know for YEARS that I’m done with having kids. I waited this long just to see if my mind would change. We had kids young, when most of our friends were still out partying. Now that our friends have young babies, we laugh because we can sleep in on Saturday mornings (assuming there is no wrestling match or whatever…it’s not shitty diapers in the middle of the night). I’m getting the surgery because I don’t want to get surprised at 40 and have to start all over.

The procedure lasts about twenty minutes.

I don't feel the needles, or the scalpel.
I don't feel clamps or the cortorizing torch.
I don't feel the stitches.

What I do feel is a 16 lbs Monkey that jumps out from under the table, grabs my testicles and tries to pull my stomach out through my asshole. It only lasts 20 seconds or so but is enough for my legs to jump the restraints and pin the Doctor between my knees.
"You're going to have to relax your legs" the Doc says calmly and then shoos the monkey away. Tears have welled up in my eyes. I have bitten my arm.


The weekend is spent on the couch, popping pain pills like Rush Limbaugh on a Tuesday morning. I drinks cans of Lite Beer. I alternate bags of frozen Peas in my shorts every 30 minutes. I smile. I watch movies I will not remember.

I think about the daughter I will never have. In my head she had dark hair and amazing blue eyes. I bought her everything she ever asked for and then locked her in the basement on her Thirteenth Birthday.

I do not regret my decision, but I do recognize that a possibility has become a finality. I will have Friends with Daughters, I will have Daughters-In-Law, I will have Grand-Daughters, and I will have Great Grand-Daughters. Thats pretty good. I will also have some more pain pills, another beer and another bag of frozen peas.


Chris said...

Ahhh... The title of your last post makes a LOT more sense now!

I'm happy yours went relatively smoothly -- I had mine done in January and one of my boys is STILL swollen! It's a spooky thing to go through, that's for sure.

And yes, it sucks to take the sample in. I scampered in with the brown paper bag stuffed under my coat, surreptitiously dropped it on the counter and turned to high-tail it outta there, only to be stopped in my tracks by the nurse yelling, "Hi Chris! What's this? Oh, a SPERM SAMPLE! Just wait right here while I get the paperwork..." Now I'm stuck standing in front of everyone in the waiting room, trying to pretend I wasn't just spanking my monkey ten minutes ago...

Deanamo said...

Ok..had to come out of lurkdom to comment on THIS!
1. I totally understand how you set aside the vision of a daughter when you decide your family is complete. It was definitely a process for me. After my two blue eyed boys, my dream-daughter looks just like yours!
2. My dear Steakbellie, you should have spoken to my husband more before you had this done! His was done in July and he was put in a twilight sleep. He said the last thing he remembers was the doctor thoroughly cleaning his..uh...boys...with iodine. The next thing he knew, he was in a chair with an ice pack between his legs. Too late now, huh?

Feel better, my friend!

steakbellie said...

I'm grateful that I didnt have any major complications. I'm still pretty sore on the inside but up under my abdominal wall near my stomach. Probaly from that damned Monkey.....As far as your scenereo in the office...thats what I'm afraid of!!!!

Isnt it funny how we visualize our families and potential families. I would have been a real sucker as a girl Dad, and very lucky she never got ahold of me.

Other than that one really bad moment, I'm glad I was awake. I'm even more afraid of being knocked out than of the surgery!!!!

katrocket said...

Get well soon!

Leonesse said...

LK had two of each. I, only one. He was soooo done. I would love another, but am damn glad we can't. He even saw smoke coming from the Down Below. Ewww.

Philly Guy said...

Um.. I'm glad you're doing ok. Congrats on moving up 3 spots on the MLE rankings. Now if your numbers jump in the next coming months, there will be a lot of sterile eaters.

Mega Munch said...

Ouch. I'm not going to be able to eat peas for awhile without thinking about this. Guess that's why I'll be avoiding peas for awhile.

Anonymous said...

I feel for you steak, I had the procedure a few months back, but was only given a 12 pack of old style and some hilbilly heroin before. I hope the boys get better.
-spacedock bertoletti

U.S. Male once delivered said...

SB: Welcome to the word of blank shooters my friend! Oh how I remember many years ago......ouch, maybe I won't remember the swollen, aching boys.

Liz said...

After scaring myself silly thinking about childbirth, it's actually refreshing to hear a gruesome story from the other gender. Hope you heal fast!

Smelmooo said...

This is the best blog that you have written in a long time or ever.

Good work.

Barry said...

Very well put. Entertaining truthful, and yet almost humorus if I wasn't feeling your pain!

Anonymous said...

In what will live as one of the great ironies of mankind, demonstrating that God indeed has a sense of humor, in the same week that steakbellie was nursing with a bag of frozen peas his brother’s manhood was confirmed. Very recent verification can be found here: